The Exile

by Jo Sandhu

  Tarin made his way carefully down to the river. A stepping rock wobbled under his foot as he crossed the shallow water to the small, rocky beach on the other side. Most of Mammoth Clan had assembled there to farewell him, but Tarin was sure some had come to see him falter and slip on the rocks. He wondered how many of them had seen and heard what his brother had said.

  ‘Good journey,’ said Jarkko. He stepped forward and pressed a small packet into his hands. ‘Some travelling food for you – dried reindeer mixed with juniper berries and fat. It is what we eat when we go hunting.’

  Tarin looked up at the tall man. His sister, Tuuli, stood next to him, her eyes red. Words swelled in his throat, but he couldn’t speak. He pressed his lips together, afraid that if he opened them, sounds of fear would escape.

  The wind blew ice cold and he shivered. Snow was in the air, and soon a blanket of white would cover the hills and plains. Already the mammoth and the woolly rhinoceros were gone, hurrying towards their winter grounds, away from the deep snows.

  Snow birds were turning from nut brown to white. Hares, jerboas and marmots scurried around frantically, searching for the last few elusive nuts to store before they, too, fled to their hidden burrows to wait out Kaamos. Tarin pulled his fur beaska, his coat, tightly around his body.

  ‘I will walk with you a way,’ Kalle said gruffly. He picked up Tarin’s pack and swung it onto his own broad back. Tarin looked at his father in surprise, but Kalle was already striding ahead. Tarin only had time to raise his hand once in farewell before hurrying after him.

  ‘You will make for Bison Clan, by the fork of the big river. We are kin, and they will feed you and set you on your way. Mind though, you will need to cross the river at Two Rock Peak.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Tarin’s chest felt tight and his breath was sharp. His father’s long legs covered the ground rapidly, and he hurried after him.

  ‘Then you will make for Musk Ox Clan. They will be camped at their Winter grounds near the edge of the tundar. Kai is wintering with them. You remember Hanno’s son? He is thinking of apprenticing to the Musk Ox Spirit Keeper. It would be a fine thing for him. Hanno and Salla are very lucky. He is a son to be proud of.’

  A son to be proud of . . .

  Kalle’s words cut wounds into Tarin’s heart, but he didn’t speak. He needed all his breath to keep pace with his father as the ground rose and became steeper. He used the spear to balance himself over the rocky trail.

  Kalle waited impatiently at the top of the incline. He eyed his son seriously and stroked his long red beard. Tarin followed the movement of his hand as he caught his breath. Today, Kalle’s beard was twisted into three parts, a leather thong wound around each.

  ‘The days are already short.’ Kalle cleared his throat and looked out at the plains, a deep furrow between his bushy eyebrows. ‘If you have not reached the Mountain in two Moons, you must Winter with Musk Ox Clan. The snow will be too thick on the ground, even with snow-shoes.’

  Tarin nodded, but his voice stuck in his throat. He wished he had some of Old Mother’s special tea to make his breathing easier.

  ‘They will look after you.’ Kalle rubbed his nose and tugged his beard. ‘I am inclined to journey part way with you,’ he murmured, watching his son carefully.

  Tarin shrugged his shoulders and looked out over the rolling hills. Somewhere in the hazy distance was the big river, and past that were the mountains. He realised his father was waiting for an answer, and considered his words. Was this a test? he wondered.

  If Jarkko or Matti were here, they would laugh and slap Kalle on the back and tell him such an old man as he would slow them down. Kalle would laugh, too, and slap them back. But if he slaps me on the back, Tarin mused, I will fly through the air like a plover chick learning to fly. He scratched his nose and shuffled his feet. Above him, a bird – a hawk maybe, or an eagle owl – circled high. Tarin felt like it was watching him.

  ‘Father,’ he said, then he hesitated.

  There was so much he wanted to say, but standing there on the edge of Mammoth Clan territory, the vast steppes before him, his words seemed too small for what was in his heart. He wished, so much, to just turn and run back to camp. His feet shuffled, and almost turned homewards.

  But that will not help my clan, he thought. The way ahead was long and uncertain, but he felt that Spirit of Owl was very close to him. He raised his face to the wind and it lifted his hair into a wild tangle. He drew in a deep breath and the air was chill. This was his journey – and his alone. He would not let his fears overwhelm him, and he would not be responsible for Mammoth Clan losing another strong hunter.

  He stood tall, wobbling only a little on his weak leg. ‘Father, I will see you again.’ Tarin looked at him, but didn’t dare to reach for his shoulder.

  Kalle rubbed his beard and the back of his neck, then nodded, as though a decision had been reached. ‘Valo told me the journey was yours. I think he is right.’

  ‘Old Father would say he is always right,’ Tarin said.

  He was surprised when Kalle laughed. Tarin laughed too in sheer joy. The bleakness that had smothered him since the mammoth hunt lifted from his heart. His journey was before him. The open grasslands of the plains, the undulating fields of golden, brittle hay and, in the far distance, a line of bent and twisted trees – pine, alder and birch. In the forests, these trees would grow to be giants. On the steppes, where the constant winds from the glacier stunted their growth, they huddled along riverbanks and ravines.

  ‘I will see you again, little rab . . . Tarin. I will see you again, Tarin – my son.’ Kalle reached forward, as though to hug Tarin to his chest, but then he stopped. With his right hand, he gripped his son’s shoulder instead. Tarin felt his bones crunch beneath his father’s grip.

  Kalle sniffed and stepped back. ‘Good journey.’

  Tarin nodded, unable to speak. He knew if he did the tears would run from his eyes, and he would be less of a man. Instead, he shouldered his pack, grasped his spear, and started down the hill towards the open steppes.

  His journey would be long, and hard. He knew that. But he would continue across the plains until he reached the big river. At night, he would set up his aurochs hide tent and sleep wrapped in his sleeping furs of softest fox pelts. In the small streams crossing his path he would replenish his water flask, and he had enough food to last until he reached Bison Clan.

  Tarin paused before his trail turned and looked back the way he had come. His father still stood on the top of the hill, his hand raised in farewell. His other hand was lifted to his eyes, but whether to shield his gaze from the rising sun, or to wipe the dust from his eyes, Tarin couldn’t tell. He raised his own hand and suddenly felt very alone.

  A shift in the wind urged him onwards. Tarin turned, letting his feet carry him forward across the plains. Away from his father. Away from his clan. And away from his home.

  Kaija ran, her feet sinking deep into drifts of fallen pine needles. Branches scratched her face and clawed her hair, but she dared not stop. The sounds of pursuit, although fainter, were still behind her. She rubbed the ache in her side and kept running.

  ‘Kaija! Wait!’

  ‘Luuka, come on!’ Kaija slowed as her brother struggled to match her pace. ‘They are right behind us.’

  ‘Wait!’

  She turned impatiently towards him and hissed in frustration. The two rabbit carcasses slung around his neck were caught in the low branches of a blackthorn thicket.

  ‘Leave them!’

  Luuka shook his head, his mouth a firm, thin line. ‘No. We have to eat.’

  ‘And if they catch us, they’ll string us up like those rabbits.’ Kaija bent over to relieve the pain in her side and drew in large gulps of air. Her mouth twisted. ‘Our lives are not worth those pathetic scraps of meat. I’ve seen more flesh on . . . on a mosquito.’

  Luuka shrugged and looked at the rabbits. His fingers stroked the soft fur. ‘We need to eat,’ he repeated. ‘And how can Boa
r Clan say we stole their meat? They don’t own the forest. No one owns the forest!’

  ‘I know that. But things are different here.’ Kaija ran her hand through her hair and rubbed her face, smearing it with dirt and sweat. ‘We’re a long way from home.’

  Luuka nodded, his shoulders slumped. Kaija’s heart sank at the angry, closed look in his eyes – a look that hadn’t been there before they had to flee, a look that hadn’t been there until Retu died.

  ‘We don’t have a home anymore, Kaija. Remember?’

  Kaija shook her head and closed her eyes. Nightmare images rose before her, and she was back in the cave.

  Angry voices in the night . . . fear, like a mist, seeping into every darkened crevice . . . the smell of sickness and burning willowbark . . .

  Then their flight from River Clan, and the fear-filled days that had followed. Always hungry. Always watchful. Deeper and deeper into the forest they had run, leaving behind all that was familiar. They’d foraged for nuts and grubbed for mushrooms and moss. At night they’d huddled together, barely sleeping, while wolves and other night creatures scented weakness and lurked in the shadows, waiting. They had driven them off with flames and stones, but the predators scented their weakness and bided their time.

  Finally, Luuka’s traps had snared two pitiful rabbits, all bone and fur.

  Kaija rubbed her face in anger. That was when the Boar Clan hunting party had appeared out of nowhere, calling them thieves and pushing Luuka to the ground. They were big, strong men and women, armed with short spears. They should have dropped the rabbits. Kaija realised that now. They should have begged for help. Instead, hunger and anger and stubbornness had made them run.

  A cry and a shout to their left shattered her thoughts. They had been seen.

  ‘Run!’ Kaija pushed her brother before her.

  Fear surged through her, lending speed to her feet. She barely registered the uneven ground, the exposed roots and rocks that threatened to trip her. She was only aware of the fear inside her and her brother in front of her, two dead rabbits bouncing around his neck.

  A sound rushed past Kaija’s ear and she stumbled, confused. Were there birds here in the forest that swooped and hunted their prey? She glanced upward but saw only the deep green pine trees towering overhead, their branches dusted in light snow. She heard another shout, this time closer. Voices closed in from both sides.

  A loose rock beneath her feet saved her life. Kaija felt the rocks move . . . and then she was falling down a small embankment. Another of the bird sounds rushed past her and a short spear thudded into the tree above her. An icy shiver ran down her spine. How can a man throw a spear with such force that it lodges itself in a tree? She found herself unable to drag her eyes from the sight of the spear firmly stuck in the wood even though danger was closing in. She heard it in the shouting voices and the sounds of pounding feet.

  She pushed herself up and felt a twinge in her ankle. Voices drifted down the embankment. Kaija looked around frantically. She saw a fallen tree, overgrown with brambles, and dived towards it. Thorny briars scratched her hands and face, but she pushed herself further into them and burrowed into the thick layer of rotting leaf matter and old wood. It crumbled easily at her touch, covering her in a coat of mulch. Deeper and deeper she burrowed, close to panic. The sound of the pursuers scrambling down the embankment was frighteningly close. She clenched her muscles to stop herself from trembling and forced herself to lie still.

  ‘The little brat is hiding somewhere,’ a rough voice said.

  Kaija heard the sounds of undergrowth being searched and heavy tramping. Snatches of laughter came to her, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. The sound of her pounding heart echoed so loudly in her head, she thought the whole forest would hear it. She closed her eyes and felt fresh sweat break out on her body. It stung her scratches and made her itch. Her lungs screamed for air, but the musty smell of the leaf litter and loamy earth irritated her nose and throat. Kaija held her breath and sent a silent plea to her totem protector.

  Spirit of Horse, hide me, please. Keep me safe.

  A man stopped by her log. He reeked of sweat and rancid meat. Kaija felt her stomach churn.

  ‘Thieves,’ he muttered. ‘Dirty thieves.’ And he spat on the ground.

  A small sound escaped from Kaija’s lips, but the man didn’t notice.

  We are not thieves, she repeated to herself, over and over. She forced herself to lie still. We are not thieves, and we have just as much right to hunt in the forest as you do.

  A call came from deeper in the forest, and the hunter moved off.

  Kaija lay very still, straining her ears to hear. The forest was silent. Carefully, she raised her head and looked around, but there was no one there. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the mud and stale sweat. Her muscles trembled and she had no strength left to move. A howl rose in her throat, like a physical pain. It tore her heart apart, and she curled into a ball and lay sobbing on the forest floor, sobbing for all she had lost.

  Hours later, weary and frightened, Kaija crawled from her hiding place and pushed herself to her feet. She dusted the dirt from her clothes. Her empty stomach clenched and she swayed, suddenly light-headed. She scrambled back up the embankment on her hands and knees, forcing her weary limbs to climb. She had to find Luuka.

  The last time she saw him, before she fell, he was running ahead of her, veering to the right. She studied the scene around her, taking note of the broken branches and disturbed earth. She was good at tracking – one of the best in her clan – but fear clouded her mind and made her hands shake. She rubbed her aching head and wished she could think clearly. ‘Luuka, where are you?’ she whispered. Her voice was swallowed by the silent forest.

  She found a trail and followed it. Someone had definitely passed this way. Her hand brushed the dark green pine leaves. Someone had run this way, dislodging the cover­ing of snow from the branches and leaving their footprints in the soft earth. She knelt to examine a cluster of low-­growing club-moss, crushed by a heavy tread. A tuft of grey fur fluttered from the jutting branch of a spindle tree. Rabbit fur. At shoulder height. A curtain of beard-moss lay torn from a graceful spruce tree, as though someone had blundered into it as they ran with unseeing eyes.

  A sliver of dread pierced Kaija’s heart. She closed her eyes and tried to quell the rising panic.

  ‘Spirit of Horse, protect your child,’ she murmured under her breath. ‘Please help him.’

  She always felt Spirit of Horse was a better totem for herself than for Luuka. She yearned to run wild and free, while he was happiest near the water, diving off rocks as sure-footed as an otter. But they had shared a womb, so their totem was the same. ‘Help him run like the wind.’

  Kaija followed the signs to a small clearing. She paused and looked around, her breath steaming the air, her blood pounding through her body. A light dusting of snow covered the ground, now trampled and sullied with the heavy tread of many men. Their larger footprints almost completely obliterated the smaller, lighter tread of their quarry. There had been a fight here, Kaija realised, the icy hand about her heart squeezing tighter. She knelt by a depression in the ground, made by a falling body. Two dark red drops of blood stained a nearby rock. Kaija felt faint.

  ‘Luuka . . .’ His name was a cry of anguish on her dry lips. Her gaze followed the furrows in the snow where something, or someone, was dragged. Kaija sat on the ground and dropped her head onto her knees. She felt very alone.

  Something brushed against her face and she looked up to find snowflakes falling gently. They settled on her hair and caught in her eyelashes. She brushed them away impatiently. Snow would cover the tracks, she realised. And then how would she follow Luuka?

  The thought made her stop and think. Was that what she was going to do? Follow the Boar Clan tracks back to their camp? And then what? Could she possibly rescue Luuka alone?

  She shivered and wrapped her arms tightly around her knees. But what was the a
lternative? To desert her brother? To carry on without him? It was unthinkable.

  But I don’t even know if he’s still alive!

  Kaija cried aloud at the idea of losing her twin. It couldn’t happen – not after all they had been through. She crouched in the clearing and rocked back and forth, a low wailing sound escaping from her lips.

  He can’t be dead. Please don’t let him be dead.

  She saw him again in her mind, clutching his rabbits, determination etched into his face.

  ‘We need to eat, Kaija.’

  She closed her eyes and felt hot tears flow down her cheeks. She had been the one who’d convinced Luuka this was a good place to hunt. He had set the snares only because starvation stared them in the face and they were hopelessly lost. She had no idea where Beaver Clan was. She no longer even knew where the river was.

  She realised she was staring at a patch of disturbed snow near where Luuka had fallen. She blinked her eyes and frowned, a wave of nausea hitting her as she realised she was staring at the rabbit carcasses, lying trampled and discarded on the ground.

  She picked up the rabbits and held them to her chest, now little more than pathetic scraps of bloodied fur.

  ‘Luuka!’ she cried, no longer worried that her voice would be heard. But there was only silence under the trees. The snow kept falling, blanketing her in white. ‘Luuka!’ she cried again, but there was no one left to hear her.

  She was alone in the forest, with two bloodied corpses clutched in her hand.

  It was nearly dark when Kaija forced herself to move. She didn’t know how long she had sat there, as the snow fell around her in thickening drifts. How easy it would be, she thought, to just stay here. She could lie down in one of the drifts and simply go to sleep.

  But who would save Luuka?

  The thought was like a small flame inside, urging her to stand and brush the snow from her furs. It urged her to move her stiff, unwilling limbs and look for shelter. Without shelter, she wouldn’t survive the night.